The Satirizing Americans

    The persons probably most amused by the movie and TV stereotype of the American Indian are the scores of Indians themselves now working in industry in the L.A. area.

    Many of them take a quiet delight in satirizing the phony characterization.  Among these is Carl Gorman, technical illustrator at Douglas Aircraft's publications department in Lawndale.  [Note: Gorman was the father of Native American artist R.C. Gorman — lrh].  Gorman is also well known for his paintings of Indian life and Arizona desert scenes under his Navaho name, Kin-Ya-Onny-Beyeh.

    It is frequently necessary for supervisors and coordinators to hold policy conferences, which may cancel or change work already done.  Not long ago the brass had their heads together in spirited debate and the hired hands, watching from a distance, feared the worst in revised plans.  One workman, Frank Terry, brightly suggested that maybe they were discussing a promotion list.
   
Carl went into his Indian act.  "Much noise, much wind," he mocked solemnly, "but no rain."

     A PHYSICAL education teacher at a junior high school in San Fernando Valley was instructing a class in basketball and while explaining the rules, placed her hands on one girl's shoulders to demonstrate overguarding and asked, "Now, what foul did I commit?"

    "Togetherness," a smart girl named Stephanie replied, breaking up the proceedings.

    MIDNIGHT HOST
Life is a midnight host
Who gives us a hasty snack
And then when we're gone
Suppresses a yawn
And never invites us back.
    –RICH FLOWER

    AGAIN Joe Marshall, manager of what he contends is the zaniest construction company in town, doesn't know what to do about the help.
   
Not long ago one man refused to drive the orange pickup truck.  He said the color attracted bees, which found him tasty.

     The other day Benny Branch was spraying the interior of a building while a helper held an extension light.  "Throw the light on the floor," Benny said.  "OK," the assistant said, and did, breaking the bulb.

    If they'd just whistle while they work, Joe broods, instead of all that crazy stuff.

    A SERVICE MAN finished filling the vending machine in the Police Building with cartons of milk, locked it and left.  When he returned half an hour later a trusty was waiting for him.  "You left your money box here," he said, "so I took it to the property room for safe keeping."  A trusty, in case you forgot, is a prisoner who does odd jobs around the station.

    EVERYONE, it seems, is sadly contemplating our imperfect world, finding little that is comforting and conveniently blaming others.

    Over coffee, J. Farrington Barrington Arrington, the sage of Bunker Hill, became thusly eloquent: "The canopy of innocuous desuetude continues to descend over the contemporary scene.  The dynamism has gone out of the individual and a rigid retrogression has gripped society."

    "I think I know what you mean," his wife said, "it's drink and be merry for tomorrow is uncertain — judging by the beer cans and empty bottles in the hallway trash boxes."

    AROUND TOWN — As Charlie Park was leaving the Coliseum Sunday with about a minute to go in the Ram game there was a tremendous roar from the crowd.  A man walking nearby observed, "They must be hanging Sid Gillman " . . . Speaking of football, no truth to the rumor the entire UCLA football team is named Smith and all other names were changed to protect the passer . . . A radio announcer giving a commercial for a dramatic school said the faculty is made up of "the topmost cream of the upper echelon of the TV industry."  Than which there is none plus ultra . . . Be wary of Hatton Hulett .  He sidles up and asks, "Will the ball park look like a nudist camp when the Dodgers play next summer? After all, they'll be playing without Dressen."